


Liminality

by keraunoscopia



Category: Chicago Med
Genre: First Kiss, Light Angst, Longing, M/M, New Year's Eve
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-02
Updated: 2019-01-02
Packaged: 2019-10-02 14:54:39
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,182
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17266238
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/keraunoscopia/pseuds/keraunoscopia
Summary: “Why aren’t you down there?”The voice startles Will so badly he reaches out, grasps onto the railing like he’s afraid he might topple over, white knuckled and wide eyed. He turns, slowly, but he doesn’t need to. He recognizes the voice without looking, he’d recognize it anywhere.“I don’t know.”





	Liminality

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ChameleonCircuit](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ChameleonCircuit/gifts).



> I'm not really sure where in canon this is set. It probably just isn't so we can ignore all that. Anyway, Cherie, happy New Year, please have my trash.

It’s a new year, so Will knows he should feel alive. He should feel the excitement, the potential, the possibility. It’s intoxicating and viral, sweeping through the crowd out on the balcony despite Chicago’s proclivity for biting winters. He can hear the sound of fireworks off in the distance, the clamor of people several stories below, all rosy cheeked and wine drunk, shouting unintelligible exclamations about how it’s the new year now. 

It doesn’t feel any different to Will. Some years have felt like a precipice, or a sort of existential death. They’ve been liminal and uncomfortable or exciting. But they’ve always made him feel something. He’s always had something to look forward to, some new challenge to conquer, some new step to make. 

But now, looking out over the city skyline, windburned cheeks, hands stuffed firmly into his pockets to fight off the cold, now he’s sure that this year has nothing good in store for him. Nothing to look forward to, nothing to aspire to, no challenges other than surviving, that thing his body always seems to want to do on its own. 

He’s not exactly sure when the snow starts to fall, but it’s as near midnight as he can imagine, soft flakes that seem to hover more than fall, really, not quite descending on a straight path. They rest gently and undisturbed in the soft curls of his hair, along his eyelashes, melting on hot skin. He’s never really liked the snow. He likes Chicago, and he can tolerate the cold, but the snow has never been kind to him. 

“Why aren’t you down there?” 

The voice startles Will so badly he reaches out, grasps onto the railing like he’s afraid he might topple over, white knuckled and wide eyed. He turns, slowly, but he doesn’t need to. He recognizes the voice without looking, he’d recognize it anywhere. His eyes settle on Connor, white flakes settled in short hair, the blush of champagne, or the cold, across the bridge of his nose. His tie is pulled just a little loose, enough to unbutton his collar. The sight sears like a sort of white hot rock in the pit of Will’s stomach and he’s not quite sure why. Connor looks soft like this, angelic even, with the halo of tiny snow crystals, and the way the stairwell light shines through the doorway. 

“I don’t know.” Will replies truthfully, because he’s caught off guard, because he’s had more to drink than he really should have at a work function, because he can’t quite think of anything else to say. 

“Where’s Natalie?” Connor asks again, stepping towards Will, towards the railing. There’s a curious sort of tone to his voice, one that Will isn’t sure how to read. Everything from Connor lately has sounded like an accusation, like condemnation. This is different. Its careful, treading lightly, whatever implication is being made, it's far too subtle for Will’s decided lack of nuance. 

“I don’t know.” Will replies again, but this time it’s only sort of truthful, in a roundabout sort of way. Because yes they had arrived together, and yes he can assume that she’s somewhere in that crowd that he could peek at several stories below. Maybe she’s looking for him, maybe she isn’t. She must have had as much to drink as he had, and Will knows that she was expecting a New Year’s kiss, and he knows that he’d intended to give her one. He’s sure she found someone else, even if it’s just friendly, Will’s stomach churns at the thought. Not of someone else kissing her, but because he can’t bring himself to care,

Somehow, instead, he’s ended up here, up on the roof, watching the fireworks alone, ringing in the New Year alone, no champagne, no kiss. Just the fireworks exploding overhead, deafening claps and flashes of light that used to make him feel that childlike amazement, that naive sense of wonder. 

Connor takes another step forward, and he’s close now, so close that Will can smell the sickeningly sweet scent of strawberry champagne on his breath, can feel the heat radiating off his body even as he shivers against the cold, jacket carelessly left somewhere, just a thin white button down to hold out the brisk wind. 

“You didn’t want to spend New Year’s with her?” Connor asks, and his head cocks to the side, ever so slightly. Their chests are so close Will is certain no more than a single sheet of paper could fit between them, and the intensity of Connor’s gaze has Will shivering in a way that has nothing to do with the arctic frost. He feels exposed, open, like Connor can see him in a way that no one else has in years. 

Will’s breath hitches softly, and his gaze falls to Connor’s lips, wet and pink and swollen like he’s been chewing on it the way he does when he’s anxious, and Will isn’t sure when he noticed that Connor does that, because he’s never thought about it until now. “No,” he shakes his head slightly, and he can feel Connor’s breath against his lips, scorching hot and dizzying. 

Will has never felt like this before, like his head is spinning, like his feet are threatening to leave the ground. He knows it’s not from the alcohol, because he had stopped downing that champagne half an hour ago, because he didn’t feel like this, didn’t feel so out of control until this moment now, with Connor’s eyes piercing into him, and Will had always thought they were blue, but up close, like this, they’re far more grey than anything, like a Chicago sky only after the sun has finally disappeared below the horizon, but just before the darkness settles in. 

Connor opens his mouth like he’s going to ask another question, and for a moment Will wonders if maybe he should have offered better responses, witty comebacks, something sarcastic. Because that’s how they’re supposed to talk to each other, that’s what they’ve always been so far. A little antagonistic, a little friendly, never too real. 

This feels real. 

And Will isn’t certain if he leans in or Connor does, but suddenly there’s no distance between them at all, just the hot brush of Connor’s lips against his, sweet and lingering but gone far too soon. Connor frowns as he pulls away, that distinctive u shape settling between his brows, and he looks scared, more scared than Will has ever seen him, and Will’s heart feels like it’s pounding in his chest, echoing in his ears like a steady stream of fireworks. He reaches up his hand, gently, and Connor flinches. 

It takes a moment for Will to realize that Connor thought he was going to hit him, and Will’s shoulders sag. He doesn’t know how to say it, doesn’t know how to tell Connor that he would never. Words have abandoned Will tonight. Instead he brushes his knuckles against Connor’s wind burned cheek, far too tender to be a threat, and all he can muster up is, “happy New Year.”


End file.
